


Monster

by chaostheoryy



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Canon-typical language, Coming Out, Friendship, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Monsters, Richie comes out to Stan, Scene Rewrite, Stan Uris is the best friend that Richie deserves and I'm proving it to you all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-15 03:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheoryy/pseuds/chaostheoryy
Summary: Richie's greatest fear isn't heights or snakes or even killer clowns. It's something much darker, something much more personal.***A.K.A.: the AU where Pennywise's initial attack on Richie involves Eddie.





	Monster

“Richie fucking Tozier? Are you trying to bone my little cousin?”

Richie’s heart froze in his chest. Every eye in the arcade was on him.

“Get out of here, you fucking faggot,” Bowers sneered.

Richie stumbled back a step. Part of him wanted to stand up and defend himself, to tell Bowers to shove it and see him in Hell. The other part, however, wanted to vanish from the face of the Earth.

“Fucking move!”

Richie swallowed, the urge to fight dissipating instantly. Even as he rushed out of the arcade and down the street, the word rattled in his brain. It shred his soul and clawed at his lungs like a vicious beast that would’t rest until it had consumed every last ounce of his pride.

_Faggot_!

Richie collapsed on one of the benches near the center of the park and buried his face in his hands. His stomach lurched and his throat tightened as tears began to flow from his eyes. He trembled, fighting hopelessly to stop himself from crying.

_Why didn’t you tell me your town was full of fucking fairies_?

The boy’s accusation stung like sanitizer on an open wound. It’s not like Richie had wanted to hold hands or make out with the fucking kid. All he’d wanted was to play another round of Street Fighter. And yet…

And yet a part of him did want to do those things. Some irrational, irritating part of him buried deep beneath his own skin wanted to hold hands and wrap itself up in the arms of another boy. It wanted to fall in love and find its other half in a way Richie knew it wasn’t supposed to. Boys weren’t supposed to want to love other boys.

But Richie did. Even though he knew it was wrong, even though he knew bullies like Bowers would murder him if they found out, Richie wanted nothing more than to love another boy. He wanted to do all those stupid cheesy things that people did when they fell in love. He wanted to kiss and go on dates and stay up ’til dawn talking about every little thing that came to mind because he couldn’t take his eyes off of the person at his side. He wanted to be dumb and reckless and unreasonable because love had made him blind to everything but them. He wanted to be with that special someone, that perfect boy, that made him feel like it was okay to be who he wanted to be.

“Richie?”

Richie looked up to find Eddie standing in front of him. He looked goofy as ever in his tiny red shorts and his puffy fanny pack but Richie’s breath caught in his throat nonetheless.

“What are you doing here, dickhead?” Richie snapped defensively, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as quickly as he could, “Thought you were too busy massaging your mom’s monster feet to hang out.”

Richie sniffled and adjusted his glasses before standing up and pushing past Eddie.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Eddie called after him.

There was salt in Richie’s mouth and he honestly wasn’t sure if it was the taste of his tears or the scathing words that rolled off his tongue. “Who fucking cares. It’s not like anybody gives a shit about the trash mouth anyway.”

“I do.”

Richie stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes fluttered.

“You do?”

He looked over his shoulder. Eddie’s gaze was sharp and his fists were clenched at his side but there were clearly no hostile intentions in his head.

“Of course I do,” Eddie replied, “This may come as a big fucking surprise to you, but I’m not a complete asshole. I don’t know what happened at the arcade but whatever it was, you didn’t deserve it. This town is full of dickheads who don’t know when to keep their mouths shut. I mean, neither do you, which is probably how you ended up getting hurt in the first place…”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks, doc.”

Eddie frowned. “What I’m trying to say is you can talk to me. I know it’s not really something we’ve ever really said to each other, but we’re best friends, Rich. I want you to feel like you can be honest with me. About anything.”

Richie took a deep breath. He wanted to tell Eddie everything. He wanted to explain why he was crying, why he ran away from his favorite place in Derry. He wanted to confess those irrational feelings and those stupid desires. He wanted to admit that he had those thoughts about Eddie, that every single foolish, romantic thought he’d had since the fifth grade was _always_ about Eddie.

Richie shook his head. “I’m sorry, Eds. I can’t. Not about this.”

“Why?”

“It’s too hard to explain, okay?”

“Too hard to explain?” Eddie’s voice suddenly lowered. “What’s so hard about admitting that you’re a fucking faggot?”

Richie’s eyes bulged in his head as his stomach fell to his shoes.

“How difficult can it be to tell somebody you’re a filthy, cocksucking _monster_?”

Richie gasped in terror as his nightmare began to unfold.

Eddie’s pupils dilated beyond the constraints of his irises, rendering the entirety of his eyeballs pitch black. His mouth curled up into a devilish grin as his entire body started stretching. His limbs elongated with the horrifying sound of snapping bone and thick, greasy hairs started to sprout from every orifice of his skin. Long, mucous-coated fangs took the place of his little white teeth and gigantic razor sharp claws ripped out from underneath his nail beds with spurts of blood. A bushy tail snaked out from his lower back and suddenly the Eddie that Richie knew was gone. Standing in Eddie’s place was a massive wolf-like monster.

“What’s the matter, Richie?” The monster growled, “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

Richie screamed at the top of his lungs and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The monster stayed hot on his trail, its breath tickling the back of Richie’s neck as he fled.

“Run all you want! You can’t escape your dirty little secret!”

Richie threw himself underneath the cover of one of the park benches. The monster lunged at him, claws tearing the wooden seat to splinters. Its massive jaws snapped shut around one of the planks and ripped it clean off its concrete base, exposing Richie’s body to the open air. He screamed and rolled out from underneath the bench just as the monster shoved its head through the broken wood.

Richie watched over his shoulder as the monster tore the entire bench out of the ground and tossed it aside like week-old leftovers. Then, with saliva dripping off its every tooth, it let out an ear-piercing howl and bolted after its prey once again.

Richie ran faster than he’d ever had before. He slammed his eyes shut and pumped his arms harder and harder. Every muscle in his body ached and his chest felt like it would burst open from the pressure of his lungs. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let the monster get him.

But the monster _was_ him.

Richie’s eyes shot open with the realization. The monster chasing him wasn’t really Eddie. It wasn’t really anything. It was just _It_.

Richie skidded to a halt and turned to face the roaring beast that was charging him.

“It’s not real,” he whispered to himself, “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real!”

He closed his eyes and flinched as the monster lunged at him with its mouth wide open. A forceful gust of wind blew his shirt back and the monster’s guttural snarl vibrated through his body but he never felt its jaws snap shut around him.

Richie waited there for a moment with his eyes closed. Then, when he was certain he hadn’t been swallowed by the beast, he opened them once again. Sure enough, he was standing alone in the middle of the park. The previously destroyed bench was back in one piece and the huge paw prints that the monster’s feet had left in the ground had vanished into thin air. Every last remnant of his nightmare was gone.

Richie collapsed in the grass, his heart thudding against his ribcage. None of it had been real and yet, at the same time, most of it was true. He was running from a beast that lived inside himself —a monster that wanted to run free and take things it wasn’t supposed to have— and he honestly didn’t know how much longer he could keep it at bay.

* * *

“Have you ever had a secret that you couldn’t tell anybody?”

Stan’s brow furrowed slightly. “Well, yeah. Everybody’s got secrets.”

“I’m not talking about the crusty ass Playboy under your pillow or the ‘I shat myself in gym class’ crap, Stanley,” Richie grumbled up at the ceiling, thumbs twiddling on top of his stomach, “I’m talking the kind of secret that hurts you, the kind of secret that gets you hurt if other people find out.”

Stan rolled over in his sleeping bag to look over at Richie. “Gets you hurt? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know! I’m just saying that there’s secrets that other people don’t wanna know. Kinda like how you don’t wanna tell your mom you haven’t actually read the Bible ‘cause you know she’s gonna kill you.”

“It’s called the Torah.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “What if you had a secret that was worse? What if you were hiding something so dark that it scared you?”

Stan sat up and faced him. “Richie, I need you to tell me straight: did you kill somebody?”

“_What?_” Richie propped himself up on his elbows. “No, man! I didn’t kill anybody!”

“Good,” Stan sighed.

Richie smirked. “Or did I?”

Stan grabbed his pillow and slapped Richie in the face with it, knocking his glasses off the bridge of his nose.

“Ow! Asshole!”

“I’m not playing around, Rich,” Stan said as he placed his pillow back down on the floor beside him. “We’re friends. We’re supposed to be honest with each other. What’s going on?”

Richie fumbled around the room for his glasses and shoved them back over his eyes once he found them. “Why should I tell you? You just smacked me in the fucking face!”

Stan gave him a look.

“Okay, fine.” Richie let out a long sigh and swallowed. “Look, I’ll tell you but you have to promise me you’re not going to tell anyone. And I mean _anyone_. Not Eddie, not Bill, not even your fucking mom okay?”

“Okay.”

“No, man, you gotta swear it!” Richie raised his hand. “Swear to me on your beautiful, curvy mother—“

“Richie.”

“Stan, come on! I’m not telling you shit unless you swear it!”

Stan let out a resigned grumble and raised his hand. “I swear on my mother…”

“That I will tell no one…”

“That I will tell no one…”

“Richie Tozier’s deepest, darkest secret…”

“Richie Tozier’s deepest, darkest secret…”

“Until the day I die.”

“Until the day I die.”

“Which could be tomorrow if I slap Richie in the face with a pillow again,” Richie added.

Stan responded by ramming his heel into Richie’s hip.

“Ah! I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He rubbed at the spot where Stan’s foot had made contact. “Take it easy on me, dude. This body is a national treasure!”

“Stop fooling around and tell me what’s going on already,” Stan said sternly.

Richie sat up and faced Stan head on, their knees nearly touching. “Do you promise that you’ll still be my friend after I tell you?”

Stan looked completely alarmed by the question. Richie couldn’t blame him either. It wasn’t like Richie ever opened up about his feelings let alone divulged secrets like this.

Stan nodded. “Of course,” he answered softly, “I’ll always be your friend, Rich. No matter what.”

Richie’s heart skipped a beat. “Okay. Here we go…” He cleared his throat and lowered his head, looking down at his feet as he rubbed at his knees. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now and I’m not really sure how else I’m supposed to tell you but…Fuck, I don’t even know how to tell myself this! I just...I think I’m gay.”

“I know.”

Richie’s head snapped up. “_What_?”

A small smile was tugging at Stan’s lips as he spoke. “Well, I don’t mean I knew like a hundred percent, but I kinda had this feeling that you were,” he explained.

“H-how?”

Stan shrugged. “I just noticed things. You don’t look at girls the way other guys do. Like when Beverly started hanging out with us, pretty much every one of us was checking her out except you. Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m sure she appreciates that.”

“But I’m such a ladies’ man…”

“Joking about wanting to have sex with other people’s moms doesn’t make you a ladies’ man. It just makes you a weirdo.”

Richie scoffed. “Bold words coming from a loser who does puzzles and spends his mornings bird watching instead of playing outside.”

“You’re dodging the conversation again.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Stan replied with a nod of understanding, “I know this isn’t easy for you. But, I’m glad you’re talking to me about it.”

Richie looked at him expectantly. “And you’re not..._disgusted_? You don’t think I’m some kind of filthy monster for being this way?”

“No, of course not. Being gay doesn’t make you a monster, Rich. It doesn’t change anything about you. You’re still a loud, troublemaking loser regardless of who you like.”

Richie blinked. Stan never ceased to amaze him. He was only thirteen just like the rest of the Losers and yet he spoke with the heart and wisdom of someone three times his age. He always knew the right things to say when somebody had an issue and was always looking out for his friends, even when they weren’t always doing the same for him.

“Can I ask you something?”

Richie nodded.

“How do you know?” Stan inquired quietly. “Have you ever kissed another boy?”

“No. But I want to. I know it sounds gross but all the things that you want from girls, I want from guys. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing...I want all that stuff. Just with boys.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Jesus Christ, Stan! What is this? Jeopardy?” Richie rolled his eyes. “Just ask me!”

“Is there a boy you like?”

Richie swallowed. God, yes there was. There was somebody he liked so much he would lay his life down on the line for them without any hesitation.

“Yeah,” he admitted in an almost whisper, “I’ve liked him a long time. Longer than I can even remember. It just took me forever to figure out what the feelings I had for him were.”

“Is it Eddie?”

Richie nearly choked. “Listen, fartface, I don’t know what kind of Jedi mind trick shit you’re trying to pull on me, but you better knock it the fuck off right now!”

“Just say yes or no, dumbass.”

Richie couldn’t help but blush as he nodded again. “Fine. Yes. It’s Eddie…” He toyed with the hem of his pajama pants. “Am I really that obvious?”

“It’s not that you’re obvious. It’s just that I can tell he’s special,” Stan said with a small smile, “Every time you guys are together, you’re attached at the hip. You buy each other ice cream without needing to ask and you always seem to know what he’s thinking before he even opens his mouth. Plus you guys are always bitching at each other. You’re like an annoying old married couple.”

“Do you think there’s a chance that he’s...” Richie hesitated. “I mean, do you think he might like me too?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? He’s never really talked to me about liking anybody. You know how he is. He’s always scared that his mom is gonna find out about stuff he doesn’t want to share with her and make him feel bad for it.”

Richie felt his stomach churn a little at the mention of Eddie’s mom. He couldn’t even imagine what she would think if she found out that Eddie was best friends with a filthy gay kid, let alone if Eddie had feelings for him too. She would probably never let Eddie leave the house again.

“Even if he was gay like me, he’d never admit it,” Richie sighed, “He’d marry his own fucking mom before he’d even consider checking out another guy.”

Stan frowned. “Don’t say that, Rich. You never know. Maybe he really does like you too and he’s just waiting for the right time to do anything about it.”

“The right time? The fuck does that mean?”

“I mean it’s kinda hard to worry about crushes and stuff when there’s a clown trying to kill everybody in Derry.”

Richie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Speaking of that asshole, he came after me yesterday.”

“Wait. What?” Stan looked horrified. “He attacked you?”

Richie nodded. “Yesterday, when I went to the arcade, Bowers called me a faggot so I ran to the park to get away. I was crying and shit and suddenly Eddie was standing there in front of me telling me he cared about me and my feelings. But then, completely out nowhere, he called me a faggot too and turned into a fucking werewolf. The thing was huge, dude. Like eight feet tall with swords for claws. I was scared shitless.”

“Shit, Rich. I’m sorry.”

Richie waved his hand dismissively. “I figured out it wasn’t real so whatever. It’s a pretty fucking low blow for that stupid clown to use Eddie though.”

“You know Eddie would never say something like that right? Even if he found out about your secret, he would never call you bad names,” Stan reassured him, “I know you guys bitch at each other all the time and call each other dumb stuff but he would never hurt you. Not like that.”

Richie felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “I know. Eds is an annoying little brat but he’s not a bully. He’s my best friend. And so are you.”

Stan reached out and pulled Richie into a hug. Richie’s breath caught in his throat. Every stubborn inkling of loneliness and shame he’d felt since the arcade seemed to vanish the instant Stan put his arms around him. Richie shyly hugged him back and let his chin rest on Stan’s shoulder.

“No matter what happens from here on out, you’ll always be my best friend, Rich.”

“Thanks, Stanley,” Richie said softly before squirming his way out of Stan’s arms, “Now would you get your gross ass cooties away from me? I’m still pissed at you for hitting me with your fucking pillow.”

Stan rolled his eyes and gently shoved Richie away. “Go to sleep or I’ll do it again.”

Richie grinned to himself as he laid back down for the night. 

Even if he felt like he was wrong, even if he sometimes felt like a monster for being different, it was clear to Richie that Stan would never see him as one. All Stan saw was his best friend. And hey, what kind of monster could he really be if the ever wise, ever kind Stanley Uris wanted to be his friend?


End file.
